


Kelpie

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Plot Twists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 19:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5978695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>/'kelpē/<br/> <br/><i>noun</i><br/> <br/><b>1.</b> A water spirit of Scottish folklore, typically taking the form of a horse or less frequently man, reputed to delight in the drowning of travelers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kelpie

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this picture prompt](https://dustyforgotten.tumblr.com/post/138684883987/writeworld-writers-block-a-picture-says-a).
> 
> Art by [Renezinha](http://renezinha.deviantart.com/art/Kelpie-590588110).

Twilight brought with it high tide, the roar of the Pacific Ocean battering the rocks. Salt splashed in his eyes, but that wasn’t what had Crowley crying. That would be the eyedrops.

“Six.” he enumerated as one dripped from the tip of his nose. It was mixed with seawater, but that counted, right? He blinked frenetically, wiped the corner of his eye with his thumb, and noted the droplet before flicking it into the water. “Seven.”

Crowley got down on his stomach (no way would his knees take these rocks) and braved the spray. “Alright, you damn pinniped,” he muttered as the waves began to swirl, “come meet your new husband.”

The water bubbled and folded; a wave crashed on the rock face and drifted back, revealing a glassy surface in what should have been tumultuous currents. It was getting dark, and it got darker the further under the waves one delved, but way down in the deep blue, something was moving.

He reached his hand gently into the water, outstretched like an invitation, like an agreement. The shape coiled, and charged up through the current. Crowley withdrew his hand just before it could breach the surface.

The merman darted from the waves, head thrown back to whip drenched hair out of his face. He bobbed once, dissipating leftover velocity, and sputtered to open his lungs, gasping for a few moments, blinking seawater from his eyes. Crowley watched, quietly. He seemed pale, in the moonlight—but he supposed a lot of mythological creatures would be, not like they could get out to sunbathe very often—with dark hair soaked flat against his scalp and a jaw he’d sooner imagine on a sailor than the creature they lust after. The merman blinked, and tilted his head curiously.

Crowley flicked water from his fingers. “You’re not a selkie.”

“Is it that obvious?” Well, he wasn’t wrapped in sealskin, for starters. No sealskin meant nothing to steal and bind him to life on land.

“Mermaid, then?”

“I believe the term is _merpeople_.” he answered gruffly. Crowley thought mermaids were supposed to sing—or was he mixing them up with sirens again?

“I always preferred _merfolk_.” Crowley replied. It sounded more like an ancient, magical race, as opposed to a new human rights group.

The merman considered, and seemed to like the word. He extended his hand. “My name is Castiel. And you?”

“Crowley.” His hand stayed firmly tucked under him. “...I was really hoping for a selkie.”

Castiel grasped a cavity in the rock face, anchoring himself. “Good luck. They’re extinct.”

“Really? Thought everyone was propagating with selkies not too long ago.” Only a couple hundred years, which wasn’t all that much compared to life expectancies for the creature in front of him.

“Well, humans interbred with selkies so long, their offspring ceased to be selkies.”

He always wondered why some kids were just better swimmers. “And the finfolk?” Known for abducting humans for their spouses on the island of Hildaland, they weren’t considered a romantic lot—but neither was Crowley.

“Same thing. Hildaland’s a vacation resort, now.”

Crowley tsked. “Figures.”

The merman combed his fingers through his hair, absently. “Isn’t it a bit late in human evolution to be throwing your bride over your shoulder?”

“Who said anything about a bride?”

He laughed, short, high-pitched bursts that echoed of a dolphin’s squeal. “I knew that was a woman’s ritual! I just thought you were confused.”

 _“Confused”_ is what they called him in high school; now it’s _“sod”_ and occasionally, _“chicken hawk.”_ Crowley shook his head, and looked the creature over. Weren’t mermen supposed to be less attractive—and less social—than their female counterparts? Was that racist? “Why’d you answer, then?”

The merman sunk under the water to his shoulders, and looked up at Crowley with light eyes. Those probably came in handy in the lightless depths. “Curiosity.” He smiled, with teeth shaped and set like a human’s, if not a little green. “Aren’t you worried I’ll drown you?”

Would that really be so bad? “I was raised in Scotland. The tales of merfolk aren’t quite so grim over there.”

“Ah, I see.” he noted, bringing his free hand to the jagged edge Crowley was perched on. It was scaly, but not in the marine sense: like his hands cracked in the winter air. But it was May. “Reasonable water spirits, not malevolent omens.”

“Why blame the omen? You don’t shoot the messenger.”

Castiel smiled, and the water glimmered on his face in the rising moonbeams. “We do drown humans, though.”

“I would too. Most people deserve it.”

He threw his head back with that dolphin-call laugh, black hair stringy like kelp, with stubble on his jaw; did mermen shave? “I can’t see why _you’re_ resorting to a selkie. You’re, well...” he eyed Crowley, appraisingly, lasciviously, “a catch.”

“I suppose we have different beauty standards. I’m a bit past my prime.” If his heart disease and retirement fund meant anything.

“Merfolk prize the wise, not naive youth. To marry late is to have waited for an ideal mate.”

Crowley considered this. It made sense, if you lived indefinitely. “Don’t suppose you’re fond of overweight investors?”

“Fat is desirable, to withstand the cold underwater. I’m downright scrawny.”

He was downright breathtaking. “First I’ve heard of that since the Renaissance.”

The merman cocked his head again, both tilting and rotating. “I don’t know that other word.”

“What, Renaissance?”

He formed the word foreignly. “In...vester?”

“It’s a profession. Couldn’t explain without understanding the economy.”

“Are you wealthy?”

“I’d say so.” He wasn’t even lying.

Castiel smiled, deviously, and reached for Crowley’s tie where it had tumbled from his jacket and dangled over the ledge. “I’m no selkie, but...”

Crowley laid flat on the uneven rock, stretched over it. “You’ll do.”

The merman dug his overgrown nails into the porous rock and lifted himself by Crowley’s tie, locking their lips. It was quite a chaste kiss, closed-mouth—wet, but that was a mythical sea creature for you. When he tried to pull away, he thought the merman was biting his lip, but the flesh just stuck to him like tar. The tide was retreating, and with Castiel risen out of it so far to reach him, Crowley could see the fold of his hip, curve of his thigh: no fin.

Smiling, the kelpie bit into his lip and grabbed the back of Crowley’s jacket with the hand that had been anchoring him to the rock, dragging them both into the briny sea.


End file.
